


The Trouble With Writers

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Prompt Fic, Snark, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: All Hawke wants to do is get a good night's sleep - that's it, that's all! Unfortunately for her, Varric has other ideas. A writer's work is never done, and Maker help her, it's severely cutting into her beauty rest.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 15
Kudos: 51





	The Trouble With Writers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [untouchableface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableface/gifts).



> From my (unofficial) continuing series "Hawke and Varric sharing a bed and being snarky."
> 
> Written as a fill for a prompt on tumblr - interested in sending me prompts? You can find me on tumblr as queenofbaws ;P

“ _Maker_ , I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do _what?_ ”

“Stare at me like that while I’m trying to sleep. Swear…feels like you’re burning a hole through my head.” As though to prove a point, one of Hawke’s hands slid up from under the covers, her movements made slow and stupid with sleep. She rubbed at her forehead, taking in a deep breath through her nose.

“How do you know I’m looking at you? Your eyes are shut.”

“How do _you_ know my eyes are shut if _you’re_ not looking at me?” When there wasn’t an immediate answer, she let out a triumphant little hum. “Gotcha.” She reached over to tweak his ear but missed by a mile, blindly thumping something harder instead. Shoulder, maybe, or arm…her hand flattened, fingers crawling across skin until her tired mind could piece it together. Ah, _collarbone_. She should’ve guessed. Hooking two fingers around the chain of his necklace, she nestled herself deeper into the pillow. “Stop writing and go to sleep. It’s _late_. Or maybe it’s early…I dunno anymore.”

When Varric spoke up that time, she could feel the rumble of his voice under her palm. “I’m not writing.”

Hawke gave the chain a warning tug. “You _are_.”

“I’m _not!_ ” He chuckled even as he took her hand in his, lifting it from his necklace to press a kiss to her knuckles, carefully avoiding the worst of the bruises.

“You _are,_ though. That’s what you’re doing when you get that look. You’re _writing_. It’s just…” A yawn overtook her, warping her voice off with a leonine stretch of her jaw. “…in your head instead of on paper.”

“I have _no idea_ what look you’re talking about.” And damn him, sleepy or not, she could _hear_ the laughter in his voice.

“You do. It’s the one you’re staring at me with.”

He made a small sound of uncertainty, still holding her hand to his lips. “Don’t know what to tell you,” he sighed, “I don’t know the look.”

She finally gave in with a sigh, forcing her eyes open. Visibility wasn’t _particularly_ in her favor—on her side as she was, half of her vision was blocked by the fluff of her pillow, and the canopy had been drawn around the bed, blocking out much of the light from the fire in the grate—but she could see more than enough to make her point. “ _That_ ,” Hawke said matter-of-factly, wriggling her hand out of Varric’s grasp. None too gently, she tapped an accusatory finger on the bridge of his nose. “ _That_ look. The _writing_ look.”

“Uh oh. Did you bump your head today while we were at the docks? Sounds like maybe _someone_ got her thoughts a little _jostled_ , and—” His voice cut off as Hawke covered his mouth with her hand, but his smirk was still evident in his eyes.

The mattress dipped and groaned, Hawke trying to find a more comfortable position for both lecturing _and_ threatening. It was not as easy as she would’ve hoped. Finally, she just flattened the pillow with her other arm, propping her head up with her hand. “I know you think you’re clever. I do. I know this, Varric. And most of the time, I’m inclined to agree with you. It’s one of the many, many things I love about you. _However_. The day has been long and strange—”

Though muffled, enough of his voice carried through the spaces of her fingers for her to make out, “As most of our days _are_ …”

“—and there are few things that I would like to do right now more than sleep. Believe it or not, lying here listening to the cogs in your head turn is _not_ _one of them!_ ” For emphasis, she removed her hand from his mouth, poking at his forehead until he pushed her wrist away. Ugh, but as her voice cleared and the thoughts in her head sharpened, it was clear he’d already won; she was waking up again. “It is _audible_ , do you understand that? I can _hear_ you stringing adverbs together! Too many of them, I may add—”

“Hawke muttered in an angry aside to the handsome dwarf.”

She let out an exasperated noise, once more hooking a finger into the chain around his neck and giving it a brisk tug. “The handsome dwarf won’t be half so handsome by this time tomorrow if he continues to be a _prat_.”

“Pretending to scowl, Hawke delivered the threat. It wasn’t _especially_ convincing, but—”

“Threat? Oh no, no, no, serah, you absolutely misunderstand me. That was _hardly_ a threat. It was a _promise_. A solemn vow that I am making to you right here—I will absolutely _destroy_ you if you don’t go to _sleep_.”

Now, there were few people in Kirkwall fool enough to doubt something like that coming out of Hawke’s mouth. Not when the longest running joke (turned truism) around Lowtown was how you could always find her by following the blood; not when there were members of the city guard who were known to turn ‘round and twiddle their thumbs until she passed by, if only so they could later claim ignorance about the mess of Coterie goons smeared across the steps. Very, very few people indeed.

But Varric was their goddamn _king_. “While I still haven’t the _foggiest_ about this ‘look’ you keep going on about…”

Instead of answering, Hawke just groaned aloud. What was the saying about rest for the wicked?

“Maybe you could help me work around some of the block I’ve been having with this new book.”

In all her time growing up, her mother had given her just…so many warnings. Warnings to stay away from mercenaries, from shysters, from stablehands, from the Blackstone Irregulars, from Orlesians…never _once_ had she warned her about _writers_ , and _Maker_ just then she was wishing she had. “‘And they all lived happily ever after.’ Done.”

He scoffed, the sound more amused than derisive, “This one’s about _you_ —”

“Oh, my apologies. Try ‘And they all lived happily ever after, except for Fenris, who has never _once_ smiled in his life.’ That work better?”

“She said, using humor to cope with the unfamiliar sense of warmth seeping its way into her gnarled heart—”

The corners of her mouth turned down in a feigned scowl. “I _hate_ when you _do that_ …”

“Then take this seriously. We’re talking about my craft, here!”

“Your craft.”

“My art!”

“I’ve read _Swords & Shields, _Varric, and ‘art’ feels a little generous.”

“The coarse Fereldan farmgirl muttered under her breath, bitter that nothing _she_ had ever—” A thump to his chest and Varric was laughing again. “Here, just answer a few questions for me so that I can mull over them while I sleep.” Before she could argue (and oh, was she planning to argue) he continued, “When I’m describing your duel with the Arishok, would you prefer that I use the word ‘frenzied’ or ‘resolute’ in terms of your mindset?”

“Has anyone ever told you that your pillow talk is _exceptionally_ taxing?”

“Yes.”

Well that put a cap on that, huh? Hawke resisted the urge to groan again, shrugging her shoulders as she thought. “‘Dizzy’ is really the only word that comes to mind.”

“Uh huh. Yeah, here’s the problem with that—I was planning on sort of skipping over the part where you just ran around the room until you winded him.”

“Varric…what part _wasn’t_ the part where I ran around until I winded him?”

Unsurprisingly, he pretended he hadn’t heard her, making abstract shapes in the air with his hand as he asked, “Now, not all of my readers are Fereldan, obviously, so do you think you could maybe take a moment of your time and explain the weird, sort of unnerving thing your people have when it comes to dogs?” Chuckling to himself, he added, “I just think it would really round out your introduction.”

“If loving Mabari is wrong, I don’t care to be right. Is this it? Are you finished? Have you had your fun?” Though she suspected she already knew the answer, Hawke at least pretended to sink back into the mattress, dramatically throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the world at large. And for a second, maybe two, that worked! There was silence, blessed silence…

Then, “Just one more.”

She didn’t need to see him to know he was grinning that self-satisfied grin of his. “One more.”

"One more."

“Just one?”

“Juuust one.”

“And then we can sleep?”

“Then we can sleep, yes.”

Hawke took a deep breath in…held it…let it out. There was no way in this world or the next that she was going to be anywhere _near_ rested enough to deal with Hubert tomorrow. “Fine.”

“This is the one I’ve been struggling the most with, honestly, and I feel like maybe if I could get your input on it, I’d be able to put this part of the chapter to rest…” _Lucky it_ , Hawke thought to herself, only for Varric to continue, “In your personal opinion, would it be more appropriate for me to compare your _ethereal beauty_ to the moon? Or do you feel like the stars are a more fitting comparison?”

At that, she lifted her head again, sizing him up. She cocked an eyebrow when his grin only seemed to grow, pursing her own lips in an attempt to keep from reflexively returning it. “You think you’re _sooo_ clever.” Hoping against all hope that the brainstorming session was over and done with, she nestled herself closer against his side, tucking her head against his shoulder tiredly. “I can’t speak for _The Randy Dowager Quarterly_ , but I think I can give you _my_ rating for this newest project of yours.”

“It’s not even done yet, how could you—”

“Three buckets of vomit out of five.” She yawned, closing her eyes. “The author was clearly pandering to the subject of the book in hopes of not being murdered by her while he slept.”

For a moment, the room went quiet but for the soft crackling of the fire.

“…did the pandering work?”

She faked a musical little laugh, realizing with great regret that she was completely and utterly awake. “Fall asleep and find out.”

“I dunno…I’m feeling pretty good about my chances. If you murdered me in cold blood, think of the ramifications! You wouldn’t last a day without your favorite archer.”

Even with her eyes closed as they were, Hawke’s eyebrows flew upward. “Mmm, I still have Sebastian. I think I’d be fine.” It was _her_ turn to grin as Varric went quiet, a faint rustling suggesting he’d angled himself to stare at her. She tried not to picture his face, not wanting to laugh outright and ruin the act.

“You did _not_ just compare _me_ to _Choir-Boy_ —”

“He said angrily—”

He sputtered for a second, but it quickly gave way to laughter. “ _Indignantly_.”

“Don’t worry, Varric,” she said, cooing it with a reassuring pat to his chest. “You’re _nothing_ like Sebastian. Sebastian would _let me sleep_. Do you think he needs help recounting his day to Andraste? No, I think not.”

There was a grumble from next to her, the sound of it rumbling against her cheek, but then nothing. Nothing at all. A minute passed, then two, then five, and only then did she let herself believe that the battle had been won, that at least now she could shut her mind off and get a few hours of rest before—

“One more thing…”

Her eyes snapped back open. Time to make good on her threat. “I warned you,” she said flatly, getting up from the sheets just enough to give herself room to throw a leg over him, “I told you I would kill you, and now I’m absolutely going to make good on that.”

For a man who found himself pinned by one of Kirkwall’s most illustrious bruisers—hell, for a man who was about to be slaughtered in what was essentially his own bed—Varric hardly seemed moved. “Hey now, if I had known _this_ was what you were threatening me with, I woulda—”

“Oh no, again, you seem to be confused. This is not _anything_ you’re going to enjoy. This is me getting ready to strangle the life out of you.”

“Ah. Then one more quick question for clarification purposes,” he snickered, hands already creeping their way to the curve of her waist. He did not seem to be particularly threatened by the imminent death he was staring down. “You need to be _straddling me_ to do that?”

Hawke let her breath out in a regretful sigh, “If I want to see the light go out of your eyes, then yes—and I rest assured Varric, I _do_.”

He seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged as if to say ‘Eh, what can you do.’ “I can think of worse ways to go.”


End file.
